


Mr. Brightside

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, BAMF Hermione Granger, Bad English, Black Hermione Granger, F/M, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Post-War, awkward Viktor, bookstore owner Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:41:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: When Viktor has a bad day, he goes flying. When it's really bad, he works out really, really hard...When it's exceedingly bad, he goes and visits a bookshop in London, to speak to a British veteran and wish death upon her husband. Surprise, surprise when she's not what he thinks.





	1. Coming Out Of My Cage

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing his accent a la the books in this one, but I think I may stick to just his speech pattern in others. We'll see.

Usually, when Viktor has a bad day, he goes flying so fast that his heart pounds and it takes him a full ten minutes to regain proper use of his legs. 

When he has an exceptionally bad day, he likes to torture himself with running drills and working out. Those days happened more often than he liked to admit, but it was doing wonders for his career apparently.  

Unfortunately, neither of those options were viable as today was an exceedingly bad day. 

You see, he’d been recognized for an International Quidditch League Award for the longest Seeking streak in history. He’d be placed in the I.Q.L. hall of fame after the next game that would, per his coach, add one more catch to his impressive record.  Usually, that wouldn’t be a bad thing, right? Recognition in his career? Awards? A spike in salary?

_ Wrong _ , he thought glaring at the screen he passed and drawing his hood a little lower over his face, making sure his sunglasses were still there to obscure his face. 

He didn’t think anyone would ever understand how  _ wrong _ that assumption was when it came to being an international celebrity who didn’t really want to be a celebrity. Whenever there was a huge announcement like that, whenever there was any other thing attached to his name that could highlight the Krum name, four things happened.

First,  he got a letter from his mother insisting that he come home and let her chose his dress robes for the events. That letter always came with a request to come home to meet her latest favorite pureblood woman. 

Second, he got a letter from his brother asking him to come to one of his get-togethers to bolster the idea that they were actually close. He’d gone once and refused to go to another because Desislav insisted on thrusting a rabid fan who could be the ticket to Desislav’s next career move at him to fawn, get an autograph, and try and feel him up.  

Third, he got a letter from his sister asking him if he wanted to meet her and a few eligible women for dinner. That dinner, of course, was usually filled with her colleagues, Quidditch fans and random fans who his sister could use for her own ends in some way. 

Fourth and probably the worst, the amount of his fan mail would increase. Don’t get him wrong, he loved… most of his fans, at least the ten to twenty percent who were genuinely a fan of the sport. The other eighty to ninety percent who sent letters doused in love potions, wrapped in unmentionables, and declared love everlasting  when his heart had already found someone to pine for he could do without. He was sure that he still flinched and cringed at the sight of mail, no matter what it was because of that section of his fans, but if that wasn’t bad enough, he had this little thing to torture himself with…

Or rather, this person to torture himself with. 

His teammate would call him crazy if they knew, and they would when they found out exactly how far off the deep end he’d gone. He felt his lips lift helplessly, achingly longing as he saw her.

She was there in the window, walking away from the front desk towards the back, he could probably spot her anywhere with the way he’d spent days outside the shop before working up the courage to go in. Yes, it was torture, but it was still better than another minute of hauling his fan mail out of the training grounds and into the dumpster. 

Her name was Hermione and she worked at Granger’s Collections. It’s the kind of antique and specialty bookstore that only the truly bookish, or specialty researcher, would ever go to. In all his time of going to the small bookshop, he’d only ever seen her there at the counter, all day, every day. Sometimes, when he walked by in the evenings, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, there were people there with her, chatting with her. A red-haired man, a red-haired woman, and a brunette man were the most frequent. There had been a quicksilver blonde male too a few times, but he wasn’t a frequent visitor.  The brunette male seemed rather close to “‘Mione” as they called her, kissing her cheek or hugging her tightly. He was quite often the only one to appear alone with her. 

Viktor had begun to call him “Mr. Granger” in his mind in an attempt to stop this insanity, but his heart called him a ruddy bastard. It wasn’t his fault really.  She was… 

She was beautiful, not in the put her face on every poster from London to Bulgaria sort of way, but the way that made your heart quiver and your palms damp with nerves. Skin like smooth chocolate, long wildly curly hair always braided in a thick dutch braid down the back of her head and over her shoulder. There was usually a rubber band keeping it together and the whole host of rebellious curls to frame her round face and dark eyes.  She was strong of body, brilliant in mind and heart and so very kind… 

_ And muggle, _ a part of him said. Popping the little bubble of happiness that always filled when he saw her doing whatever she did managing the store.

Viktor’s lips quirked. It was interesting to him, a phenomenon he couldn’t reconcile with what he knew of himself, that he didn’t consider her clearly  _ taken _ as a problem.  He couldn’t tell if it was arrogance, confidence, or some slip in his morals and sanity, but he didn’t bother to think about it as he walked towards the glass door to properly begin his torture session like a damn fire whiskey addict.  

From what he’d been able to get from their conversations, she was younger than him by three years, had graduated early, served in the military and was a certified doctor, librarian, and highly decorated in her military branch. He’d had to go look it all up when he left to figure out what exactly she was talking about, but it had been worth it to have something to talk to her about when he came back. 

She was also a damn dream with deep brown eyes, a wicked smile, and a sense of humor that had him laughing longer and louder than he had in a long time… Not since his father had died in the war.  When he came, the shop was usually empty so there was plenty of time for them to chat about anything and everything.

So, aside from her clearly being a muggle and taken, why was this his preferred choice of torture?

Well, contrary to popular belief, Viktor wasn’t just brooding to have a “tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious air”. He literally just never quite grew out of his school day habits. He’d been a Triwizard Champion, a Triwizard winner, and an international quidditch player since he was seventeen. If that wasn’t enough, he was literally drenched in fame because of his participation in the war and his family’s status since then. The Krums had been the first pureblood family in Bulgaria to agree to support the Ministry’s laws around pureblood marriages. Not that the Krums ever had a problem finding another pureblood to wed, nor ever considered having their descendants marry a non-pureblood, but cutting out inbreeding for the sake of the magical race was an idea they could publically support without really giving up their beliefs. 

Viktor could care less.

With that much attention on his name, he took to muggle disguises to just get a breath of fresh air without someone storming him on the street or following him on his morning jogs. He hadn’t completely remained in his school years. He stood straighter now, he’d grown taller since school, but that hate of the constant simpering and giggling of girls had not left him. So here he was, walking into Granger’s collections to fantasize about a muggle girl in jeans, a hoodie, sunglasses, and a baseball cap in the middle of London with a phone that he barely knew how to use beyond the calendar, translator, and faking how to take calls in his pocket.

Gods, he felt pathetic, but everyone had their guilty, painful pleasures, even an internationally acclaimed athlete, so sue him. 

His heart warmed at the chiming of the bell above his head.

“Welcome to Granger’s Collections! I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

His lips twitched at the sound of her voice, the smell of muggle books, ancient in the air while removing his sunglasses and sliding them in his pocket.

“Oh, hello Viktor,” she greeted. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Expecting?” He asked turning to look at her.

She smiled at him, bright and open and he tried to remember to breathe. She was wearing red today, her braid pinned into a bun at the back of her head with a red and gold clip. She looked beautiful and he couldn’t breathe, his hands shook and grew sweaty like a damned teenager. 

_ Get it together, Viktor! _

He was twenty-five for merlin’s sake! Swooning at a twenty-three-year-old woman whose name he couldn’t even pronounce. Yes, his teammates would never let him live this down if they knew.

“Yes, you usually come in on Fridays around closing. Look for something in particular?”

_ She knew when he came in… _ He felt himself smiling at that. She noticed his presence at the very least.

“No… am off vork today.”

Hermione nodded, “Well, please come in and make yourself comfortable.”

He licked his lips nervously. Did he mention that English was his seventh language and he’d only started really learning it earlier that year? No? Well, add that to the list of why Granger’s Collections was his own private torture chamber.

He was still trying to figure out how to greet people properly when he’d met Hermione. She’d smiled at him and asked him if some other language would be easier for him, but he’d refused, stating that he was in London, in her shop and thus should speak her language in the most broken English possible, clutching his phone with its Bulgarian to English translator on so fiercely he thought he would crush it. He’d blushed so hard and ran away that day, terrified that she thought he was a complete idiot. 

When he’d worked up the courage, and vocabulary, to come back a few weeks later, she greeted him in Bulgarian and he’d come back nearly every week since. She’d helped him greatly with his English in turn for teaching her a bit more Bulgarian. He practiced and practiced, yet he still couldn’t say her name properly. He watched her disappear and reappear with a large box of books and though she didn’t struggle with them, the sight of her carrying them made him walk towards her, nearly tripping over his feet to lift it from her arms. 

“Please, I help. Is heavy, yes?”

Hermione shook her head, “It’s okay. It’s my job.”

“Please?” He insisted. “Is not… right to let lady carry heavy things.”

She smiled, charmed and let him take the box. He lifted it from her arms, easily, noting that she had to be far stronger than he first thought to carry it so easily. 

“Let it never be said I’ll stand in the way of a dying art,” she said and Viktor smiled.

She stared at him, seemingly shocked before turning. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps she was surprised that he could smile if there was something in his teeth. She led him back to where these particular volumes would go, newer books, freshly printed, some sort of references for an old text next to her. He helped her shelve books.

“Mr. Granger no help?”

She smiled wryly, “If my father could have a say, I wouldn't be lifting a finger. He'd say I'd done enough in my life to earn it.”

He frowned at her answer, “No husband?”

She crinkled her nose in an adorably cute way, “No, just me. Granger’s Collections is all mine.”

He smiled at that. Not taken, at least not married, that was good. Very good, if only he could manage to speak more than a few words at a time. He'd been practicing, he really had but… she made him nervous in a way he hadn't felt since school.

“I see,” he said.

“Besides, as my father would say, I'm not allowed to date until I'm at least thirty. Marriage is specifically for the forty and up crowd.” She laughed, a high and free sound that made his heart flutter. “You can imagine how many words I had with him about that.”

Viktor nodded, shelving books quietly beside her. Mr. Granger was a fool to think his daughter, as beautiful as she is, wouldn't have suitors before she was thirty. She turned then at the sound of the bell and his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Did you think there was a Mr. Granger--”

“‘Mione?”

Viktor’s insides churned at the voice. He recognized it as the brunette that was usually here. The soon to be Mr. Granger perhaps.

“Back here, Harry.”

It was a calendar notification telling him that he had to meet with the team healer for a physical before the game tomorrow.

“Am… sorry, haff...doctor appointment.”

She smiled, “No need to be. Thank you for helping me, you're very sweet.”

“You vill be here later?”

“‘Til closing,” she said.

“Perhaps later, goodbye.”

He bowed and could have kicked himself, muggles didn't bow. He slid his shades back on and headed up the aisle next to the one Harry was coming down.

“‘Mione,” he heard Harry greet, the sound of lips to her cheek and hugging. “There you are! Come on, it's lunch time.”

“But--”

“No buts!”

Viktor rounded a corner towards the wizarding bar nearby and walked in before slipping towards the fireplace and flooing to the bar down the street from the stadium and walked. He wanted to groan because the new healer, while pretty, wasn't exactly the best nor was she the most subtle in her attempts to get into his pants. She didn't speak Bulgarian but skated by because she spoke German and most of his team had learned German while in school.

He was just grateful that physicals were literally just a litany of standard spells in the wizarding world rather than in the muggle world… then again if Hermione were giving him a muggle physical, he wouldn't have minded. He groaned, his life did not need to be so difficult. 

“Hello Viktor,” she said coyly, her lips red, breasts high, a new glamor on her face as he walked in, taking his sunglasses off and greeting her. 

She took her time, trying to chat him up while taking her time casting the spells until Sergei, the coach, came in to greet him and give her a pointed look. He was never so grateful for the man as she hurried through her tests, pronounced him good for the game and Sergei walked him down the hall to meet with the rest of the team to talk strategy. It was the World Cup game, the first since the war and would be the kind of victory that would get the team the pick of the best for the next four years. 

Strategy meetings are always long and he manages to focus throughout it until someone asks him about where he's been in his muggle attire.

“I… went to London.”

“What's in London?”

“A bookstore.”

Sergei grinned at him and the rest of his team eyed him suspiciously.

“ _ Who _ is in London?”

Viktor was a terrible liar and faced with his team and Sergei who had all been the older brothers he'd needed when his own was being an ass, he was even worse, so bad that he didn't even try. He shut his mouth and let himself blush instead.

“A man?”

Viktor scowled at Ptolemy as the rest of them laughed, “Do not force your fantasies onto me.”

“Well you were quiet so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Who is she? What's she like? Is she pretty?”

Viktor huffed, “She’s a muggle.”

Sergei winced, “I see.”

Viktor sighed, “I am only torturing myself.”

“Put it out of your mind. Tomorrow, you have a victory to claim, a title to keep and for the love of the gods a few statements…”

Sergei nodded grimly, “Your mother has already called about her seating arrangements and the fact that she's bringing a guest.”

Viktor groaned. Of course, she was.


	2. Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new World Cup with a twist.

“Ready?”

Hermione nodded smiling and standing up. “Am I game appropriate?”

“Perfectly,” Harry said grabbing his tall red Bulgarian hat.

He looked at it fondly, remembering the roar of the last World Cup before the Tri-Wizard, or rather Quad-Wizard Tournament, and the war. It would be good to re-write that night of terror for the new age.

“A shame you weren't there for the last one. Should have heard Ron go on and on about it.”

Hermione said nothing and Harry felt the tension in the room before she spoke.

“Harry,” she started. “Could we… talk about Ron for a moment?”

He looked at her warily as she took a breath, “Sure, ‘Mione. What’s on your mind?”

“I know you and Ginny mean the best, really I appreciate it, but...Ron and I aren't ever going to be together and I'd appreciate it if you two would lay off.”

Harry winced, expecting it, really, knowing it was coming but wishing that it wouldn’t come at all. Ginny would be disappointed, Molly might be crushed and Ron… well, Ron would take some time to get over it for sure. It had been such a struggle to get him to admit his feelings for Hermione out loud and he still hadn’t quite worked up the ability to tell Hermione. At least now Ron wouldn’t have to necessarily swallow his pride to do so.

Harry sighed, “Sorry.”

She pat his shoulder, “It's okay, Harry. I know you were trying to be helpful, but enough is enough.”

He nodded and put his hat on, “I’ll talk to Ginny. You know Molly had her heart set on getting you into the family one day.”

Hermione fell into step with him, “She can adopt me without me marrying Ron… It’s not like there’s anyone around to protest.”

Harry swallowed and wrapped an arm around her to squeeze her tight, “You still have the family.”

Hermione nodded. He apparated them to the Burrow where the sound of the pre-game festivities were in full swing. George was kicking up as much ruckus as he could on his own. Without his twin, it seemed that he had to make enough noise for both of them along with his children driving Molly around in circles. She smiled walking towards the house with Harry.

The Burrow was never a boring visit.

“Oi! ‘Mione!” George yelled, “Can’t believe Harry’s suckered you into supporting Bulgaria.”

“He didn’t, I’ll have you know,” she said, lifting her chin. “I happen to have met someone from Bulgaria.”

“Met someone?” Harry asked looking at her, “Here I thought you just preferred to wear red.”

“Well, there’s that too,” Hermione said with a laugh. “There’s a guy who comes to my shop, nice guy. He helped me shelve books today. The poor man must be an expatriate for his company, though. He’d only just started learning English this year, number seven in his language line-up.”

“He could play language Quidditch,” George snorted.

“A muggle?” George’s son, Fred, asked coming up to her to take her hands, bright eyes and ginger red hair. “Aunt ‘Mione met a muggle? What are they like? Do they have strange pants like you?”

“You take after your grandfather don’t you, Fred?” Hermione asked lifting the little boy from the ground. “They’re called tights, sweetheart and no, he happened to be wearing jeans.”

“Going to date a muggle?” Bill asked from over the back of the couch, his daughter on his knee, fast asleep despite the noise.

Hermione looked at them, “I said I _met_ someone, not that I was _dating_ anyone.”

Bill shrugged, “Just don’t let Mum here you. She’ll demand to know a million things and try and dissuade you.”

Hermione shook her head, “The only family I have now is in the wizarding world. I wouldn’t give that up. Where’s Fleur?”

“She’s already at the game, had to meet up with a friend.”

Harry worried his lip, but before he could say anything Arthur had appeared to hug him tightly and Hermione. Molly was fussing that they had to get going so they could have some time to get comfortable before the game. Bill handed over his daughter to Molly who seemed to be more than thrilled to have all the children to herself while the rest of them headed to the portkey, an old boot that would activate in another five minutes.

Harry thought it was nostalgic. The portkey they’d taken to the last World Cup had been an old boot as well.

Hermione would never forget the feeling of traveling via a portkey, the high whirling sensation of it. She landed solidly on the ground, a reflex she’d seemed to develop from the days of the war--always landing on her feet. She stood up and watched Harry laugh, trying to get himself off the ground, Ron landed a few feet away from them as did Arthur, George, Ginny, Bill, and Charlie.

“You’ve got to teach me how to do that,” Harry said getting to his feet. “Seriously.”

She smiled at him, “Learn gymnastics.”

He wrinkled his nose, “Never mind.”

“What’s gymnastics?” Arthur asked and Hermione could only indulge him with the explanation of the muggle sport before they headed towards the camping ground.

From what Harry told her, the last World Cup had been the year before Voldemort’s return, exactly four years ago. They were playing in the same stadium, on the same field the only difference was that the Bulgarian Team wasn’t facing Ireland, but the Brazilian Team, who wore green and yellow. She supposed that on principle George couldn’t cheer for the Bulgarians, but who knew what else he was thinking wearing the Brazilian colors?

Dumbledore had sent her abroad to study the year of that the TriWizard tournament came to Hogwarts. She’d been so busy with physical and magical training that she hadn’t kept up with anything in London, only returning in their sixth year before she, Ron and Harry set off to destroy the Horcruxes after Dumbledore’s murder.

“Wish you’d been there, Mione,” Ron said. “We were in the top box, but we’ll have even better seats this time round.”

Hermione nodded, following them up the scaffolds towards the Minister’s Box.  It was something that she should be used to given that they were still very much riding the tide of their war fame. Harry would probably never be free of it, even when the war became just a piece of history and her relationship with the Auror department wouldn’t be releasing her anytime soon either. Ron was an Auror as well, a good one who’d become distinguished in his own way.

“There the Brazilians are!” George said pointing towards the fleet of green flying through the air. She felt the rhythm of the song they played, the rhythm of it making her hips sway, rhythmically.

She remembered going to Brazil on her traveling around the world and the sound of the music brought her back to that the month before she opened Granger’s Collections after she’d finished all of her exams and certifications. When the fleet of red came flying through she could only smile at the person on the broom, seeming to fly unattached and unhindered by the wind or much of anything. She swallowed thickly, watching him soar through the air more at one with his broom than she’d ever seen.

Her heart hammered and her mouth went dry because it was more than just speed and grace in the air as he went flying by, but something primal and beautiful--

Something undeniably sexy and Ginny let out a breath.

“No one should be allowed to make flying look so good,” she said. “Bulgarian Bon Bon indeed.”

“Who is that?”

Ginny looked at her strangely, “You--”

_KRUM!KRUM!KRUM!KRUM!_

His face lit up the seats and Hermione’s eyes widened. Krum.Viktor Krum. She’d never asked his last name, but there was no mistaking his face as he looked out into the crowd, the lights behind him reflecting his movements. There was no mistaking the man who’d been in and out of her shop since the second week of it being open as none other than Viktor Krum.

_That would explain his shuffling…_

She’d thought it strange when he’d come in shuffling, though he was so very tall and athletic, towering over her shorter frame with relative ease, his dark hair and eyes making him feel more imposing, the cut of cheekbones and jaw more masculine.

She’d been stunned when he walked in and looked at her the way he did, they way he’d stuttered and stammered with his thick accent, trying his best to communicate with her in her language when there was at least one mutual one they could both use. He’d been so utterly handsome that she’d had to focus extremely hard on communicating with him rather than staring.  

But his smile had felt like lightning. She thought he was just a swimmer from a nearby college, an exchange student until he’d told her that he wasn’t in school. She’d guessed an expatriate sent to England to help with his company’s operations, his shuffle having to do with whatever sport he played (she still bet swimming or water polo).

Never in a million years did it cross her mind to think the man with a phone who seemed to know how to use it could be a wizard, let alone the Bulgarian’s Seeker.

For Merlin’s sake, she would be meeting him tonight for the banquet Harry and Ron had begged her to come to with them for the first World Cup since the official end of the war in May.

“This day marks the beginning of a new era in wizarding history and I see no better way to commemorate it than to have these three heroes of the wizarding world start the game.”

A cheer went up and people chanted “Golden Trio” something  that Rita Skeeter had come up with in the aftermath of the war. She stepped forward with Harry and Ron to take hold of the ceremonial wand with them.

“Is it the left or the right first?” Ron asked.

Hermione only chuckled and then looked at Harry as she stood between them.

“I was kind of hoping you knew,” Harry said. “This… wasn’t what I expected.”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head at the two of them before taking control of the wand and guiding them in a quick swish and flick to send the burst of light out into the playing field. It turned golden and disappeared moments later. She handed the wand back to the Minister and slung her arms around the two of them for a picture.

“What would you two do without me?”

“Be dead,” Harry said.

“Same.”

Hermione shook her head and they headed back to their seats to watch the game. It was increasingly hard to keep her eyes off Viktor, not only was he the seeker of the team she was rooting for, but he was also the highlight of the game.

“He’s magic on a broom,” Ron breathed beside her and Harry laughed.

“He said that last time too. Looks like Krum has gotten better over the course of the war.”

Hermione didn’t comment watching the way he seemed to always know where his broom would be, or perhaps his broom always knew where he would be. Some of the changes in direction, his evasions, and things were so well executed, if she weren’t absolutely sure he was being completely fair, she would have said he was using some sort of charm. Instead, he seemed to be just a creature of the air, hanging from his broom to scan the field before chasing after the glimmering gold perhaps. The Brazilian Seeker went after him, just on his tail before Viktor pulled away and left the other crashing into a wall.

“A Wonky Feint right?” Hermione asked.

Harry snorted as Ron groaned, “Wronski Feint, Hermione. Wronski.”

She shrugged, she knew spells that could repair brain damage, excuse her if she didn’t know the name of a Quidditch maneuver that turned people into wall splatters. In about an hour, the Brazilian and Bulgarian teams were neck and neck for points, the only deciding factor still in the air was Viktor for now who seemed to be biding his time tracking something through the air maybe until Bulgaria began to overtake Brazil. At the shift in the score, he dove, practically free-falling into gravity and zipping through the air. She would give him that much. The way he rode the wind did make her feel like he was more than an athlete, but a bit of a sex god as well…

Not that she had anything to compare it to, but she knew that at some point in her life her hormones would refuse to be ignored any longer. Apparently, that point had been the day the tall, brooding man had finally decided to walk into her bookstore after days of loitering outside watching her.

“An artist,” Harry quoted dutifully watching Ron blush and laughing.

Hermione stiffened as Viktor snatched the glint of gold from the air and held it high. That bludger should have stopped, but it was still hurtling towards him. She felt her body moving, her mind running through the spells she knew and techniques, running calculations and knowing she had to move. Move now. Move _fast_.

“Viktor Krum has caught the Snitch! Bulgaria wins!”

The roar of tyhe crowd is cut off by the gasp as a bludger rammed into Viktor’s chest, knocking him off his broom and into the goal post.

“ _Krum’s going down!_ ”

Harry moved, but as usual, Hermione was faster, hand outstretched and a spell out of her mouth, Viktor’s descent slowed and eventually stopped until he was hovering in the air on the other side of the pitch. The mediwizard moved to get to him, but Hermione pulled her own broom out of her bag, enlarged it and went flying towards the pitch, sliding off the broom to hit the ground running towards his floating body to assess the damage.

“I’m a mediwitch!” A woman said rushing towards her and waving her wand.

Viktor’s hand still clutched the Snitch tightly, even though he was unconscious. Sergei was there with her asking the woman if she could fix him as Hermione stood by, holding the levitation charm and using her magic to see the extent of his injuries. The woman drew back, pale as none of her healing charms seemed to be working and the rest of his team descended to ask about his injuries.

Sergei opened his mouth, but then Hermione was lifting her wand to first deal with his spinal damage and internal bleeding before mending his ribs back into place until he coughed up blood, his lungs expanded and he breathed, harsh shuddering breaths and blood slid down his jaw. Hermione placed a hand on his chest and fingers on his pulse.

“Pulse is back to normal,” she said, twirling her wand as the golden light came dripping out of her hand. It formed bandages that slithered beneath his uniform and wrapped tight. The woman stared at her as did Sergei as she finished the last part of it and stabilized his spine.

“He should be okay,” she said. “The bandages will stop glowing when he’s healed, for now, he needs rest.”

The woman seemed to realize that her job had been done for her and glared at Hermione before taking control of the levitation field and walking him back to the Bulgarian locker rooms.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Sergei taking her hand. “Viktor vould haff died vithout your help.”

She shook her head, “There’s nothing to thank me for, go watch out for him.”

Sergei nodded and pretty soon every member of the team had hugged her with gratitude and she was pretty sure that the Daily Prophet was having a field day, getting all the pictures of Hermione’s actions before she walked to grab her broom off the ground, straddle it and fly back to the Minister’s box.

“Why were you carrying around a broom?” Harry asked as she shrunk it and stowed it in her bag.

“Habits I supposed,” she said with a shrug.

Harry nodded, squeezing her tight. Ron looked at her as if he’d never seen her before and perhaps he never really had. The Minister made another gracious announcement before pronouncing the game over. They headed back to the tent to change for the gala. Harry in his dress robes, Ron in significantly better dress robes than the ancient ones Harry had described in their fourth year. Hermione’s were blue layered like the sky at dawn and silver heels to match the pieces in her hair on her ears. She let her hair down tonight, in glossy curls down her back

“You look beautiful, ‘Mione,” Harry said as she stepped out. Ron stared at her in shock before they apparated to the gala. The man at the door greeted them kindly, took their outer cloaks and ushered them inside. It was quite the affair with reporters and the like swarming anyone who looked remotely famous. For a change, Harry was the one able to duck out as they swarmed Hermione asking about the incident, what made her help, and the like.

“We lost enough in the war,” she said. “The reinstitution of the World Cup is supposed to mark a new era in the wizarding world, one that doesn’t start with death but with everyone doing what they can to support the future.”

“Can you tell us about his condition?”

“When his team’s healer took him, he was stable and well on the mend,” she said.

“Is it true that you and Ronald Weasley are dating?”

“No,” she said humorously. “Ron is like my brother and I’m pretty sure there’s a law now against inbreeding.”

They laughed and though they had other questions for her, they left her with more than enough time to procure a glass of champagne and to breathe.

“Thanks for ditching me, Harry,” she said shooting him a playful glare.

Harry shrugged, “You seemed to be handling it well. Better than I do anyway.”

She looked over at Ron who was answering questions with a proud flush on his face.

“He’s just basking in it, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Though… with a house full of siblings, who could blame him?”

Hermione shrugged, that was fair.

Ginny came over in her green gown to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek. Watching them always made her feel a tad odd. They were just so happy and something in her ached to feel that. She laughed a bit at herself, it wasn’t a relationship, she could get that anywhere, but love. Who knew that the Know-It-All was a romantic? She found herself darkly amused when her eyes found Sergei in the crowd. She excused herself and head over to speak with him.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I didn’t get to formally introduce myself.”

“Not need introduction, you are Her-my-own-ee Granger, yes? Var hero?”

She smiled as he kissed her hand, “Just Hermione, please, tonight isn’t about the war, it’s about the future. How is the man of the hour doing?’

Sergei nodded, “He is good. Should be here soon vas confused that he live since medivitch not very good. I thank you for your help.”

She shook her head, “No thanks needed. I’m glad he’s okay.”

“‘Mione?” Harry called motioning her over.

“I should probably get back, have a wonderful evening and congratulations on the win.”

Sergei nodded, “You as vell.”

She turned to head back to Harry and take her seat at the Minister’s table not too far from where Viktor would be sitting. She felt… a tad nervous about it. What would he think of her now that she wasn’t just some bookstore owner? Perhaps he’d known all along? She shook her head, he wouldn’t have acted so painstakingly muggle if that were the case.


	3. Destiny Is Calling Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's checklist:
> 
> Muggle - no  
> Taken - no  
> Mine - yes!

Viktor fiddled with his dress robes wishing more than anything he didn’t have to wear them, but he did. At least they weren’t that blood red from school. Sure, there were traces of red, but it wasn’t the main color and they were perfect for the warm weather. He heard the Minister start his speech and knew that he’d have to go out there and face the music soon. Sergei had granted him leniency with the mingling because of the injury to pull himself together and shake off the shock no matter how good he’d felt when he’d woken up, but Sergei wouldn’t let him escape completely.

He was pretty sure he’d never experience a healing like that. No one had ever been so gentle about it and so thorough. He bet there were injuries he didn’t even know about that had been healed with that warm feeling that had taken away all the pain. He’d have to thank his savior if Sergei would point her out tonight. Perhaps, she would help him get over his muggle bookstore owner crisis. 

He walked out trying not to cringe at the sound of the cameras going off, trying to do more than frown grumpily at them, but, seriously, they were the reason he’d had so many bad days over the past four years.  He walked up when his name was called to receive the award and take the picture with the Minister before being positioned for another one with the “Golden Trio” of the war. He looked at them.

Harry Potter, he knew from the scar on his forehead and his trip to Hogwarts. The man smiled warmly at him and shook his hand, telling him that it was a great game and glad that he was okay. They chatted for a moment before he was introduced to Ronald Weasley. He’d met him before as well and had seemed ecstatic that Viktor remembered him, a fan still it seemed and then there was--

“Her-my-own-nee?” He asked, not even blushing at his butchering of her name as she smiled at him warmly. 

“Hello Viktor,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“You… how… you heal me?”

“Yes.”

“You… are...vitch?”

Hermione chuckled, “Yes… I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“You two have met?’ Ron asked looking between them.

“This is the guy I was telling you about,” Hermione said. “The one who comes to my shop all the time.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked up at Viktor who couldn’t stop staring at Hermione in shock. They took a picture of the four of them, then Viktor and Hermione for the “Savior” piece on Hermione healing him.

“Can… talk, yes?” Viktor asked. “Later?”

Hermione nodded and headed back to her seat as his mother appeared to hug him tightly and tell him how proud she was of him. He handed over the plaque to her knowing how she’d want it to add to the collection as well as the Snitch from the game even though its wings were slightly crushed. Krastina hugged Hermione tightly, thanking her for stepping in to save Viktor’s life. 

“I will have words with the I.Q.L. about having an incompetent mediwitch around,” she grumbled in Bulgarian as Viktor shook his head and kissed her temple.

“Be easy on Sergei, Mama, it isn’t his fault.”

“I know that dear,” she said, looking up at him and squeezing him tightly, “I… I just…”   
Viktor smiled and nodded, pulling her close to hug her tight.

“I know,” he said and Hermione smiled watching them. It was obvious that Krastina and Viktor were close, thick as thieves despite her always trying to fix him up with someone. She’d imagined from his outpouring of old world and chivalrous air that his family was very traditional. Krastina was exactly what she’d imagined when Viktor talked about the woman holding parties to introduce him to strings of women.

Krastina pulled back eventually to force the two of them to dance before she went back to deal with the guest she’d brought with her and had begun to follow after Harry. Hermione thought it rather kind of her considering that Ginny’s hexes were still not to be underestimated. He bowed, offering her his hand politely before leading her to the floor and taking her waist to lead her across the dance floor. 

“I thought you vere muggle,” he said with a hot blush on his face. 

“I thought you were too,” she said with a wry smile. “After all, it isn’t as if my face hasn’t been in every paper everywhere for months.”

“I see,” he said, swallowing. “You… did not know vho I vas?”

Hermione shook her head, “I wasn’t at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament or the year after, congratulations on that by the way.”

That would have explained why they never met before...

“Not fan of Quidditch?”

Hermione shrugged, “Though I can appreciate the art of flying, it isn’t something I follow heavily. Ron and Harry, however…”

“Da, remember from Tournament.”

He remembered signing something of Harry’s, his gloves he thought, and Ron’s broom.

“You are… courting Harry, yes?”

She wrinkled her nose, “Not in a million years. He’s my brother.”

“Not Veasley?”

She shook her head, “Sorry to disappoint, Viktor. No one’s pounding on my door in that way.”

“Not disappoint,” he said, pulling her a little closer as they spun, “Happy… vas...afraid.”

Hermione tilted her head with a question and he flushed swallowing and trying to calm his heart as he explained at he’d been trying to work up the courage to ask her out, even though he thought she was muggle when they met, but then he saw Harry and Ron and thought that she was married, if not dating one of them. He’d just resigned himself to self-inflicted torture by continuing to visit her.

“You’re surprisingly shy,” she said with a soft smile. “How about lunch later this week?”

Viktor looked at her and that smile came again as he nodded, “I vould like that very much.”

Their first date is at a muggle restaurant where no one recognizes them and they talk. Viktor swears she can hear his heart racing, knows what her smile does to him, what her gaze does, but he hopes that she’s just as affected. Granger’s Collections has a wizarding entrance and section as well for specialty research, consultations for the Ministry and the like. He can only imagine how much she loves those moments. It turned out that she also had muggle and wizarding staff and it wasn’t just her that ran the shop making it easier for him to floo over and whisk her away for lunch.

The first time they kiss is after dinner in Sofia. They walked the beach after and he’d kissed her in the moonlight. If he could have gone without breathing, he would have gladly, but eventually, he had to return her to her store top apartment in London. 

In her store top flat a few months later, he’s nervous that she’ll think he’s terrible for wanting to ask about moving their relationship further, that this could make or break their relationship that perhaps… she’ll show herself to be like all the others who only wanted to get him in bed to brag about it--or maybe not bed him after all now that she knows more about him. 

They’d taken it slow, getting to know one another again now that they could truly be open with one another. He learned so much about the delightful woman, the way she twirled her hair while reading, pulling curls out of the braid out of habit. How she seemed to ramble, how fast her mind moved sometimes, faster than she could stop it so she ended up saying far more than she meant to, like when she’d accidentally told him that seeing him on a broom was probably the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. 

To be fair, she had learned his quirks as well. How he spent more time on his broom reading than anywhere else because it helped him think. He’s considering bolting out the door in terror when he feels the subtle shift in her demeanor. 

It’s small, something in her tone getting colder, their conversation dwindling as the room filled with what they weren’t saying. He can feel it in his head, a pressure that’s unmistakable as he watched her move around in her kitchen. She was drawing away from him.

“Is okay? Her-my-oh-knee?” He asked watching her pull pasta out of the boiling water. 

She sighed and turned around, looking at him nervously. She had a kitchen that was all muggle with a few wizarding conveniences. She turned the knobs on the stove off and tossed the thin pasta with oil. Realizing that she was making dinner for a man that she wasn’t even sure wanted her… Yes, he’d kissed her, their dates had been wonderful, but--

“Do you want me?” Viktor blinked, his cheeks flushed and she regarded him, “I… I lost a lot in the war and if there’s anything that much loss teaches you is that there’s no time to beat around the bush, nothing is guaranteed even a few moments from now. I just…”

She set the pasta aside, “I can’t be sure if you’re nervous about it because of who I am or if you’re realizing that--”

“ _ Love, yes I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you. _ ”

Hermione looked at him, his beseeching eyes the tone of his voice even though she only understood “love” and “yes” of the whole phrase. Viktor stood up from the bar and walked around to join her in the kitchen and kiss her, desperately, almost frantically. It’s different, much different than any of the others. Where they had been soft, sweet enough to rot her teeth and make her stomach flutter like a teenager, this one was all heat as if he was pouring everything he hadn’t ever said, everything he’d been hiding from her, letting it crash over her and overtake her. 

Her hands wrapped around his neck and he lifted her easily up to wrap her legs around his waist, sliding his hands beneath her skirt over her bare skin to feel the soft thin texture of her lace-backed underwear. He groaned, holding her aloft as she marauded his mouth, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and making his knees weak as her hands clenched in his hair and skimmed down the back of his neck.

“ _ You’ll be the death of me, _ ” he said, swooning and catching his balance as she tugged her shirt over her head and groaned. He shifted her a bit more, pressing the rigid outline of him against her. 

“ _ Viktor, please _ ,” she sighed and how could he resist that sound? 

“Not here,” Viktor panted, clearing his mind enough to speak English. “First time not in kitchen.”

Hermione smiled, “Are you going to carry me to my bedroom then?”

“Is… okay?”

“Da,” she said, nudging his nose. “It isn’t as if you aren’t groping me already.”

He flushed and she laughed, high and gleeful. She was the virgin here, not him yet she wasn’t nearly as nervous or shy about it, rolling her hips so his eyes fluttered and he growled. The little glimpse of passion that had been behind his chivalry there as he carried her, large hands full of her ass, pressing her against him as he walked down the hall towards her bedroom and put her on the bed. It was oddly gentle given the way he set about tearing his own shirt over his head and pulling her skirt off to get a full view of her in her knickers. 

No one should have been allowed to be so beautiful in the thinnest Bulgarian red lace he’d ever seen.

Wait…

“You like them?”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, nervous and worrying her lip, “I thought… it’s a little silly but--”

He pressed a kiss to her lips to stop her, “Is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

And strong, dangerous in her irresistible allure in red… her eyes bright and focused, hair wild and curled when he realized that yes, his initial suspicions had been right--she’d dressed up for him and though he didn’t dare let himself hope that was the case, he’d acknowledge it, complimented her and forced himself to be a gentleman.

To know that she had been as nervous, as frightened, as hopeful as he’d been--

All of that went out the window as he lowered his head to suck one hard nipple through the soft lace. She cried out, he hand in his hair and squirming. It all happened too fast for his feverish brain, unhooking her bra with fingers he was pretty sure weren’t ever that deft before, doing away with his clothes and the rest of her underwear as they kissed and he ran his hands all over her, reverently, gently as she squirmed. 

He held her still ordering her to let him taste in thick Bulgarian that she couldn’t understand and couldn’t obey with the sensations racing through her. 

“V-Viktor,” she stammered at the first pass of his tongue. “Viktor please!”

He heard her, flipping her over to continue tasting her and pinning her down as she squirmed and begged him to do more, to touch her, to take her and he would in good time. 

Though he’d never quite grown out of avoiding his fame, there was not a woman he’d ever brought to bed that left unsatisfied. He was going to overwhelm her with pleasure and then do it again for good measure. 

When he’d finally made her a quivering body of pleasure and slid into her, he stiffened feeling how tight she was, how shocked she was. 

“Hermione?” he heard himself say looking at her as she stared up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and utterly happy. 

“Yes, Viktor,” she said tugging him down, a hand in his hair. “Please.”

Viktor groaned, forcing his body not to thrust until he could get his head back on his shoulders. He wrapped her in his arms carefully, sitting up and bringing her up with him to allow the full weight of her to press her down onto him as he held her off the bed.

She let out  a desperate sound, clinging to him with her whole body.

“V-Viktor…”

“Is okay,” he assured, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Vill vait for you.”

“No,” she said, tightening her arms. “It’s…. You’re so...I…”

He smiled, “Vill get better, you are ready?”

She nodded, not sure how she could be anything else with the way he’d worked her over until she couldn’t feel it when he’d slid into her. She closed her eyes, feeling him thrust, his stuttered breath in her ear, the warmth of his skin against hers and the desperate Bulgarian he whispered to her. She was sure she’d never felt so possessed, so utterly taken care of, safe.

She’d never felt so good either, nails digging into his shoulder as he thrust up deeper, sex-rambling in her ear, a hand in her hair as she could only focus on breathing and reminding herself that she was alive, that she wasn’t being swept away in some tidal wave never to return to her body again. 

“Viktor,” she choked out, feeling like she was flying too fast. 

“ _ It’s okay, _ ” he whispered, soothing a desperate, tightening his grip and thrusting harder even as she clung to him and begged him for an explanation. “ _ Let go, love. Let go. _ ”

She didn’t hear him. She didn’t hear anything but her own heart beating and the sound oblivion. 

Viktor felt her body tense, clench around him so tight he was afraid to move lest he hurt her. So he forced himself still as she muffled her cry in his shoulder, clinging to him, shaking, maybe scared, he was sure but he held her gently, coaxing her down, coaxing her into calming down. 

“Good,” he grunted. “Is okay, yes? Mila?”

Her body went lax, small tremors going through her and he pulled back to look her in the face, finding her eyes closed, the edges of her eyes wet with tears that made his stomach churn. Worrying his lip, he lowered her to the bed gently, careful not to jostle her too much, frightened he may have hurt her until she roused. Her eyes open and looking at him. He felt his heart beating too fast with utter terror as her eyes focused on him. 

“ _ Viktor… _ ” she breathed reaching for him, her eyes lifting slightly. “ _ I love you. _ ”

He blinked, shocked and smiled at her, leaning down to kiss her. 

“ _ I love you, _ ” he said, covering her, warming her from the chill that threatened to set in, the thin layer of sweat on their skins, negligible beneath his heat. Eventually, he realized that he was still unbearably hard and if he didn’t pull out now he would very likely end up thrusting into her until he was good and satisfied. 

“Why?” Hermione gasped, her arms around his neck. “You didn’t…”

“I… hurt you, yes?” Viktor asked. “Would not--”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Hermione said hopelessly, smiling at him. 

“You cry,” Viktor said.

“You mean to tell me your first orgasm wasn’t a little overwhelming?”

He flushed at her tone and groaned as she moved a little, stroking him though he was still sensitive and she gasped. 

“Please?” Hermione asked. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Viktor found that he was unable to deny her. He isn’t sure what time it is when he finally decides it’s enough and carries her to her bathroom to soak in the tub with him, but he knows it’s at least a few hours later. When she leans against him with a low sigh in the warm water, glad she’d splurged and went with the extra large tub as it was the perfect size for the two of them, she chuckled.

“What?”

“If I’d known it was going to be that good, I may have started having sex at least a month ago.”

Viktor blinked and snorted, “Is not so good vith every person.”

Hermione nodded, “I meant from the first time you walked into my bookstore.”

Viktor looked down at her as she grinned up at him, “You and your accent, dimples, and chivalry blew a rather large hole in my bubble of sexual obliviousness…”

Viktor smiled and kissed her, “Am glad.”

“I’m glad you finally came in too… I thought you were casing the place for a while.”

Viktor laughed, though he had no idea what “casing” meant.

“On bright side, no confusion now. Mama like you. No more torture.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Missing on, Mr. Brightside.”

“Vhat is that, mila?”

“I finally have a really large, handsome reason to show Molly that I can’t be her legal daughter-in-law.”

Viktor laughed again and they both stiffened at the smell of tomato and meat in the air. 

“The meatballs!” Hermione shrieked and leaped out of the bath, jumping over the edge and running towards the kitchen a delicious chocolate blur out the door that made Viktor laugh even harder.

He got out with a smile and followed her finding her letting out a sigh of relief as she pulled the pan out of the oven.

“Saved, thank goodness for the lining.”

“Da, different bright side.”

She looked at him as he stepped towards her and picked her up and set her on the counter.

“Haff chance to haff you in kitchen now. Think of it vhen you cook.”

She didn’t have a chance to say anything beyond his name as he slid in, the counter the perfect height for him to have her. To think she’d been so fussy about the counters because they were such an odd height.


End file.
